The pallor of your skin—
speckled eggshell, loose baby teeth,
as white as the lies you’d leave on my lips.
Soaked in moonlight, you appeared to me
an unreal specter though I bathed delicately
in your heat, night after night. A strange thing
it is, to be desperate and drowning in the ivory
of someone else’s desire. I wanted to paint you
with my color, to douse the sharp contours
of your skeleton with scandalous pigment,
to make you a canvas for my fire.
And so I clothed you in fingerprints
with the intention of staining you gold
until I found myself standing alone,
palms still dripping with bleach.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s